


Satan's Infinite Wisdom

by OkeyDokeyLoki



Series: Good Omens Stuffs [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Antichrist, Demons, M/M, Mpreg, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 22:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkeyDokeyLoki/pseuds/OkeyDokeyLoki
Summary: Satan mused to himself: how to maximize the hellish influence on his son?Then it occurred to him.Why not during the pregnancy of one of his favorite demons?





	Satan's Infinite Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> New way of writing: write the whole story in one go, edit the pile of shit that ensues furiously, post the entire thing. Isn't it convenient for you? Perhaps I should warn you now that there will be fluff, smut, and mpreg. There. Now you have been warned. One more thing; this is a sort of prequel to the show, explaining the background for the sequel things to come. Enjoy
> 
> If you haven't read the first of the series, it's not relevant. You don't have to drop anything.
> 
> First one here -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732846
> 
> Next one to come.

Unbeknownst to his demons, Satan had decided that his son needed as much demonic influence as possible, and he decided that he'd be influenced as an unborn.

The damned thing couldn't just come out of the ground, could it?

Rather than rise to the surface and bestow his son on an unsuspecting woman, he decided a demon would do.

Which demon could do him better than the inventor of the M25, the fallen angel, his favorite worker?

* * *

Crowley was already having a bad day. The kind where you wake up and your favorite left slipper is missing. In his case, two plants had developed unsightly marks and he had to dispose of two as opposed to one.

His coffee pot decided stubbornly that it was broken.

His favorite pair of sunglasses were missing (even though they all looked alike, they were his lucky ones, damn it), and besides that, a demon he didn't particularly like had just received a promotion and lorded it dickishly over the other demons, who'd worked their three thousand years longer than him.

So he was pissed, naturally, when two demons, dukes Hastur and Ligur arrived and Ligur trapped his arms neatly behind his back. "Oh, come on, I've been plenty horrible recently."

Hastur looked up, amused. "Oh, we know. This is a reward for your hard work."

From a satchel he had slung from his shoulder, he retrieved a small, swirling mass of violent, dark red.

"You're lucky, really. Other demons would die or kill to be you." Then he essentially punched Crowley as hard as he could in the stomach with the thing, and the elder demon doubled over with a shocked groan.

"First of all, charming that you think a punch is a present," he wheezed. "How about a new coffee pot, for starters?"

"That is the Antichrist. His dark Majesty believed that you could influence him with evil before he was born," said Hastur.

"Oh, Heaven, I have to birth it?" Crowley asked, looking up at the two of them with disbelief.

Ligur couldn't help it. "How else would it come out?"

The two demons then disappeared in black, foul smoke.

Crowley, one hand on his sore abdomen, hobbled over to the phone and dialed a friend.

* * *

"You're what?" Aziraphale asked, in as much disbelief as Crowley.

They sat on a bench together, as was custom between the two, in their favorite park.

"Don't bloody shout it," Crowley grumped, arm draped over the back of the bench.

"We can't let the apocalypse happen, Crowley!" Aziraphale fussed.

"They'd know immediately that I killed it if it died. I have to deal with it," the demon said solemnly.

"So let me influence it towards the light. Let me be around you for this time," Aziraphale suggested, turning more towards him.

Crowley's eyebrow raised in surprise. "I'll still influence it."

"I can at least thwart your plan. It's what we do as angels."

Crowley looked at him fondly, with a lopsided smirk. "How awfully nice of you."

"Besides, you'll need someone to take care of you," the angel continued.

"I can take care of myself," the demon said defensively.

"What about when you're-" "-what, huge?" Crowley scowled. "I suppose I'll need help."

Aziraphale lit up. "Excellent. You won't regret this."

"Mhm. Won't I?"

* * *

Aziraphale moved in quickly, seeing as he didn't really need anything.

It was slightly annoying at first, having the Angel breathing down his neck, but then he miracled his coffee pot into working order and found his lucky sunglasses, and then all of a sudden Crowley was really agreeable.

The first month dragged its feet and seemed to last forever.

Crowley was mischievous and caused minor misery, which was hard when being constantly monitored by Aziraphale.

"Oh, no, don't put that spider-!"  
"For the love of God, sit down before someone gets hurt!"  
"Oh, that is truly disgusting, how can you do it?"  
"No, no, no. The answer is no. So, no."  
"Don't touch that bloody liquor! I don't care if you can undrink it. And no jokes about 'under the influence'! It's not funny!"

Such happened for a while until Crowley said he could no longer work like this and that Aziraphale should look after his bookstore during the day and check on him at night.

'Checking in' turned into staying the whole night to watch over him.

Crowley awoke the first night of this to find that Aziraphale had made breakfast.

He rose from bed, yawned, snapped on some clothes and wandered into the kitchen, tugging a hand through his lengthy hair.

"Good morning, Crowley," Aziraphale said brightly, beaming.

"I don't eat," Crowley stated, not insensitively, just declaring fact. He sat across from Aziraphale.

"If it begins as human, it does. Eat."

Crowley didn't really like reminders of the little thing, but nonetheless he sat and gazed at the pancakes on a plate the angel set in front of him. "I don't suppose you'll have some?"

"Oh, yes. I think it'd be awkward to just watch you. I'd rather join you."

So began a habit; Aziraphale would cook or bring breakfast for them, then leave for work.

Crowley wasn't sure that he liked the domesticity. He was supposed to be evil.

He allowed it to happen, and found himself beginning to look forward to it at the beginning of the second month.

* * *

Hands, splayed across his heated flesh. A hot, filthy mouth on him, where, he didn't know, but damn it felt amazing.

A comforting weight against him, a positively pleasurable pressure against his...

Wait a minute.

* * *

Crowley awoke, at about three-quarters mast beneath the sheets.

Oh, Heaven.

He'd never had dreams like that before; he'd heard humans discuss it before, but never experienced it until then.

He believed the term was 'wet dream'.

Again was the smell of breakfast and his dick twitched at the thought of the angel in the kitchen, completely unexpected.

With a stifled groan of frustration, he clad himself in a pair of skinny jeans with a snap, tucked it in unnoticeably, and wandered out.

Aziraphale eyed him so affectionately. "Hungry?"

"Very," Crowley said darkly.

* * *

Hastur checked in every month at the end of the month, much to Crowley's annoyance. It was the same question every time:  
"How is our master's child?"

And every time, Crowley would answer that he was fine, thank you.

* * *

The third month began relatively normally.

There was a sort of schedule in place: breakfast together, leave to do their respective work (Crowley's containing a lot more mayhem), come home, go to bed by himself (angels don't sleep).

This was the case until Crowley woke up at a bit past midnight and found Aziraphale peering at him at the foot of the bed.

To be fair, he'd had a wet dream about this very man so he felt it wasn't fair to be too mad.

"What the Hel -the Heaven- are you doing there?" Crowley yelped.

"I don't sleep, Crowley. You look very peaceful when you sleep; not very bad at all."

"Well, people don't normally do that. Just so you know," the demon prompted.

"Okay," the angel said, not moving an inch.

"Oh, Heaven, at least pretend to be asleep. Come here." He drew up the duvet and gestured beside him. "And for Hell's sake, get yourself some pajamas."

* * *

Crowley didn't notice right away in the middle of the third month, but Aziraphale did.

Sometimes he went out for breakfast with a shirt, sometimes he didn't.

On one such occasion, Aziraphale turned to look at him and his eyes twinkled.

"Oh, look, it's little, but it's there," he noticed, smiling.

Crowley looked down at his stomach, and sure enough, there was a portion of slightly distended skin low on the flat plane of his belly.

He snapped on a shirt in that instant.

Aziraphale looked slightly hurt. "I thought it was nice."

An eyebrow quirked. "The Antichrist looks good on me?"

"Yes. I think it's a nice reminder that at this stage it's still innocent and impressionable."

"I meant do I look good," Crowley deadpanned, amused.

"Oh," said Aziraphale with a blush tinting his cheeks. "Always."

They ate breakfast in relative silence. Not awkward, just companionable. Crowley was still horny.

* * *

From then on it seemed as though time tumbled down a hill, gaining momentum.

Crowley awoke one night to find he was being spooned, another to find himself almost humping the sheets.

When the demon didn't object, they spooned regularly at night.

"Are you all right, Crowley?" The demon had just had a particularly raunchy dream, and was trembling slightly. He was early in the fourth month.

"Yeh," Crowley confirmed, before slipping out of the angel's warm embrace and turning to face him.

He leaned down close to the bemused man, and gently kissed him.

Aziraphale looked up at him with wonder. "Crowley?"

"Shut up and pretend to sleep," the demon said before slipping back into his angel's arms. He muttered something about six thousand years under his breath.

* * *

At the end of the fourth month, when it was getting hard to hide the Antichrist, Hastur told him to lie low until he had the child.

Naturally the demon was unhappy with this.

What d'you mean, lie low?" Crowley hissed.

"It means that by committing atrocities for Hell puts you at risk from Heaven. Our master's child is not to be harmed," Hastur reasoned.

"Okay, fine, whatever. Begone. Dismissed," Crowley snapped.

Hastur obliged, disappearing in a cloud of vile smoke.

Crowley rubbed at a sore spot in the all of his back, and turned to his plants. "There better be no bloody spots!"

They shook in fear, leaves trembling.

He felt a flutter within him then, in protest to its carrier's anger, and his hand flew to it of its own volition, setting aside the plant mister.

"Oh, Go- Satan, whoever- I really hope we don't mess you up," he spoke to it for the first time, voice regretful.

He caught his reflection in a mirror opposite.

Beneath his hands it kicked again, and he knew he could no longer ignore it.

* * *

It was commonplace during spooning at night that Aziraphale would wrap his arms around Crowley, and usually rest them on the demon's middle.

The angel explained that he loved new life, and it was almost like feeling it grow beneath his hands. Crowley was beginning to get mad at that, and insisted that it wasn't theirs to keep.

"We'll still be around him or her as they grow up," Aziraphale protested.

"Even so. We won't be his parents. He won't look to us for band-aids, or ask us if he can put his drawing on the refrigerator," Crowley pointed out.

"You think it's a he?" The angel asked.

"Well, I'm the bloody mum and it's my guess, so we're calling it a boy," Crowley snapped.

The two went silent, Crowley's belly still cradled in Aziraphale's gentle hands.

"What if we had our own? I'd want one that would look like you." Crowley asked quietly.

The angel stiffened. "How could we? We have to stop the end of the world."

There was doubt rippling between them about the Apocalypse, and Aziraphale held Crowley closer apologetically.

"You're certain?" Crowley asked softly.

"It's not that I don't want one with you, but we don't know what the future holds, and Heaven might hunt you if we were to."

"You hold the Beast, the Devourer of Worlds, within you," the angel reminded the demon, after a few minutes of silence.

Crowley laced his fingers together around Aziraphale's. "He might not be ours, but it's our duty to protect the world, and I while I do support choice, it isn't an option. We have to influence him, be around him. Do the best we can."

* * *

Crowley, the horny bugger he was, began kissing (rather furiously) Aziraphale regularly.

They held hands on the bench in St. James's Park, Aziraphale sometimes disguised suitably in case of spies.

They did all this mostly because Aziraphale left in the night, one night in the middle of the fifth month, and didn't return for a week.

When Aziraphale returned, he found the demon swaddled in blankets, watching sentimental drivel on the telly. There was a bowl of popcorn not too far away.

"Crowley?" The angel inquired, concerned for him.

Crowley looked up at him with a tear-streaked face. "It's bloody Green Tomatoes or summit. Also my breakfast was burnt this morning."

The angel gathered his demon into his arms. "Well, there'll be new brekkie in the morning. Have you gotten to the end of the film? It's quite nice."

Crowley sniffed. "The Antichrist has fucked up my whole system."

"Oh, come now, it can't be that bad."

Crowley stopped crying immediately and an eyebrow quirked. "Oh really?"

"Well, if it's so awful, what can I do?"

Another sniff. "Can fuck my brains out."

Aziraphale gaped down at him, blushing. "Wha- this is highly irregular of you, Crowley!"

The demon peered up at him. "I've been unbearably horny for three months. Do something about it, would you? You offered."

"I don't know where to start," Aziraphale admitted.

"Well, see," Crowley began, wiggling out of the blankets and warm embrace and straddled Aziraphale. "I've never felt the need to do it before. But being a demon and around other demons who were once human, you pick up a few things."

The demon scuttled down the couch awkwardly, and settled between Aziraphale's thighs.

He snapped, and immediately everything flew off both of them. "Crowley-" the angel began, but the demon grabbed his cock, which hardened a fraction under his touch, and he sucked in air, shocked.

Then with another mischievous snap, it was coated in lubricant, and Crowley's hand gave it a dexterous tug.

Aziraphale moaned in surprise and more than a little pleasure, rolling his hips into the demon's hand.

Crowley smirked, pace reaching maddening with his fluid hand movements.

When he could feel the cock in his hand tense, he aligned it underneath himself. With a snap the entrance was delightfully wet (and clean), and Aziraphale thrust upward with a growl, catching the demon by surprise.

Crowley moaned, instantly reaching out for his angel as an anchor, body curving to meet him and hands tying behind his neck.

Then as Aziraphale remembered himself, the rocking of his hips grew gentle, hands settling on Crowley's hips in support.

But the demon didn't want gentle; he wanted rough. He adjusted slightly, and bore down on Aziraphale's cock with his inner muscles.

"Fuck!" the angel cried, pelvis hammering upwards to get more access to the tight, filthy wet heat in his lover.

Crowley just held on for dear life as Aziraphale pistoned his hips, gleefully leaving scratch marks deep in the angel's skin.

Aziraphale didn't last much longer after that, enjoying the sensation of their skin sliding together and their sweat mingling.

He jolted, as though to wrench free, but Crowley gripped him with a surprising amount of force.

They both hit their crescendos and uttered their respective embarrassing noises, before collapsing to the mattress. "Well, that was a thing," said Crowley.

* * *

Crowley wanted to stay inside more and more as the pregnancy progressed, but after vengefully tending to his ungrateful plants for weeks on end, he followed Aziraphale to his bookshop for work.

Unfortunately for Crowley, both his angel and Antichrist wouldn't let him drive his beloved car. He no longer fit behind the wheel in his sixth month (or it was an awkward fit, at least).

Aziraphale had told him before and told him yet again that he went too fast and Hastur would know if he did.

So he resentfully caught a cab with his angel, shooting nasty looks at the cabbie if his eyes dared stray to the Antichrist.

Normally an onlooker would assume too much alcohol or simply too much food, but the rest of him was slender. Beer it was, the people they passed on the street decided.

When Aziraphale came into the back room to check on Crowley, he was sleeping peacefully, propped against his arms.

When Crowley awoke in the night, to see his angel had not only taken him home but tucked him in, he snuggled closer to Aziraphale.

"You're so bloody good," he mumbled sleepily.

"I'm an angel. It's what we do," was the soft response, out from the dark.

Arms twined around him. "If the stars align, we'll have a child one day, if you still want one. I'd prefer it look like you."

* * *

Crowley was tired of his center of balance being off, and was especially tired of snapping things he dropped back up.

Once he was down, no amount of snapping would get him up.

As much as he wanted to continue to follow Aziraphale to work, he was afraid the Antichrist might come somewhat early and he did not want to have to take away the cabbie's memory of it. Too much work.

"I want to go out today," Crowley whined at Aziraphale's back while he made breakfast for the both of them.

Aziraphale chuckled, a warming sound. "You know I'd take you, Crowley, if it weren't for your condition."

"You can go and shove my condition up your bloody a-" "Language, Crowley! It can hear you, you know!" Aziraphale reminded him curtly, before setting an omelette on his plate.

"Where are the ghost peppers?" Crowley asked blankly.

"You got indigestion last time. Besides, my sources say it isn't wise in your-" "- if you say 'condition', I will raid the cabinets, drink alcohol, and perhaps smoke. Don't test me."

Aziraphale looked down at him, stunned. "You wouldn't dare."

Crowley's eyebrow raised. "Oh, really?"

"Okay, I won't argue! Just don't do those things," said the angel, mildly disturbed by Crowley's threat.

Crowley looked down at his swollen belly, which had almost reached a size of maximum inconvenience. He laid his palm atop it, and from within he could feel the Devourer of Worlds kicking at his hand happily, impervious to the happenings outside of his little womb.

"Little bugger," Crowley muttered, but smiled all the same. "Do we have any egg and cress?"

* * *

Crowley awoke suddenly, shirt clinging to his skin with sweat. A swift pain jolted him into full consciousness, and his hands flew to the taut globe of abdomen, eyes screwing closed.

"A-Aziraphale!" He cried out, shaking his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"I can't be here with you, Crowley," Aziraphale said, at the foot of the bed. "The demons are on their way. Believe me, I don't want to leave you alone either." The angel crossed the room and kissed Crowley's forehead, and let himself be yanked into a passionate kiss as Crowley held onto him.

He was gone too soon, Crowley huffing and clenching the sheets until his knuckles turned white.

He contemplated, in moments of clarity, moving to the bathtub, and cautiously waddled over quickly in the interim between contractions. Who knows what Satan's son would do to his bedsheets. Burn them, or something.

By the time he'd finished filling the tub, the contractions were five minutes apart. He sank in with a hiss, shirt on for at least a damned bit of modesty, and seemingly on time, Hastur and Ligur joined him.

"Our Master's child is coming," said Hastur, with a ghastly parody of a smile.

"No shit!" Crowley howled, and the other demon dodged a bottle of shampoo.

* * *

The birth, which had begun in the middle of the night, ended in the late evening of the next day.

Hastur's clothes were a bit worse for wear, what with globs of various toiletries, but as the sun began to set, a stifled groan transformed into a high-pitched wail.

Ligur held the squalling child marvelling at his form, and the two demons turned to leave. "Wait."

They turned, suspicious. "Mind if I take him in? Nice end to the task," Crowley said exhaustedly, slumped against the cool ceramic of his bathtub.

They exchanged a look. "His Majesty said you might ask. He also gave permission."

So they swaddled the baby in a little red outfit, helped Crowley out of the bathtub, and left.

Not long after, Aziraphale arrived, arms laden with books, to receive the sight of Crowley dozing off on the edge of the bed, arms secured around the Antichrist.

He set the books down gently, moved the Antichrist gently, and dressed Crowley gently.

Crowley woke up for the last bit. "Oh, Heaven, I haven't missed the drop-off time, have I?"

"No. You still have time." Aziraphale pulled a chair closer to the bed."

"Well, now we'll have to see to it he turns out okay," Crowley murmured, peering down at the child.

"Do you still want one of our own?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked up, surprised. "If I birthed a normal-looking Antichrist, I think we'd do well. He hasn't even got hooves. Yes, I still want one."

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley so affectionately it almost burnt the demon. "One day, we can. We only need to save the world first."


End file.
